Freezing in Kew Gardens

Winds blowing through Kew Gardens

A chill wind blew. Gladys walked along Lichfield Road in
Richmond. It lead to the Victoria Gate of Kew Gardens. In her
bag she had a supply of food to last three days and an annual
season ticket to Kew Gardens. She intended to spend three
days there. Of course she hoped no-one would notice her and
she hoped her clothes still looked respectable.

Her husband would not look for her here. It was only after
she was married that she had found out that he did not like
parks. He liked betting shops. Gradually her life had
deteriorated and after two years she had practically nothing
left.
While her husband had been out oat the betting shop today,
she had crept out of the cold, dark flat. It was cold and dark
because the gas and electricity had been cut off. Her husband
had failed to pay the bills and after bailing him out for a
time, she realised how far down she was going. There was
nothing left but to walk out and she did not know quite what
to do.
So she walked down Lichfield Road and into Kew Gardens. She
went first to the Princess of Wales Glass-house and sat in the
Dry Desert area. This she loved best. The first time she had
visited was before it had been officially opened by Diana
She had seen the first
cacti very small , which had just been planted. Entrance were
not yet charged and there were few visitors. People were not
yet aware of the new conservatory. This was a day she
remembered as it had brought much happiness.
How she wished she had not married Cyril. He had been such a
plausible man, a salesman. But she soon found out that he
rarely sold anything. Instead he had spent his time in betting
shops. She had had no children and for this she was glad for
she dreaded to think how children would have fared in the
cold, dark, bare flat in November. Everything of value had
been sold, and her husband had suggested cooking over a
bonfire in the garden. In fact he had gone into the garden and
lit a bon-fire yesterday, laughing as she warmed up some.
soup. Now she thought of her three days rest in Kew Gardens
with pleasure. This was better than her dirty back garden.

From a second-hand shop she had bought a copy of Dr.Zhivago
and she sat down to read this on the bench in front of the
display of cacti, looking up from time to time to watch the
few visitors. There were a few school parties. They sat down
to draw the rare plants, with a little encouragement from the
teacher. All these children seemed so well-behaved compared
with those she had seen recently in her home area.

Her problem was where to spend the night?
Outside a young woman spoke to her showing her some outline
drawings of cacti.
"I'm hoping to make my living selling flower drawings. What
do you think?"
The drawings were good, but conventional.
"Your drawings are good," she said. "What work do you do
now?"
"I'm a secretary working for a large company. It's a very
boring life. I'm hoping to give up and make my living selling
pictures."
"But it;'s a safe job," she said. "I gave up a safe job and
now I'm in trouble. Not doing well at all, though I had some
good times just after I gave up the safe job. I worked in the
laboratory on drug testing for a large company. This was
where I met my husband, who was a salesman."
"I don't feel like getting married," said the young girl. I
need to live an independent life."
"As long as you can make your living. You need to be
careful and think hard."
"I will think carefully; at the moment I'm not sure what to
do," said the girl and they parted agreeably.
A walk through the wet tropical area and the temperate fern
house invigorated her, as she was braced by the sudden changed
in temperature and humidity.
Then she spied a young woman with a five year old child
entering the underground cinema in the centre of the
conservatory. There were ten buttons to start 5-minute films
on plant life. The child chose the desert area. She watched
this film giving details on how people in Ethiopia were being
helped to grow more crops without eroding their oasis areas by
scientists from Kew. She guessed that only a few people were
being helped by this method and was dismayed by the images of
areas which were said to be coming overcrowded. She wondered
if this were true and thought about some parks in London which
were becoming "overcrowded" with homeless people asking for
hand-outs. She did not intend to become one of them, which
was why she had chosen Kew when she became homeless herself.
The entrance fee meant that homeless people were unlikely to
enter. She blessed the day when she had bought a season ticket
for Kew Gardens which still had six months to run. She
blessed the name of Diana for opening the new , warm
conservatory.
She wondered if the underground cinema would be a good place
to spend the night. Warm and dry. But would she feel
claustrophobic locked in here until morning? Was it possible
to hide here in a dark corner unnoticed, when the building was
searched at closed time, which was 4 pm in the afternoon on
this January day? She decided it was too risky.

Gladys decided to visit the Temperate House. This had been
open the longest in recent times, and was the glass-house
where she felt most comfortable.
The temperate house was divided into three sections. One of
these was semi-tropical, not temperate, and here she felt
comfortably warm sitting on one of the long benches with back-
rests. She almost went to sleep here. She was awakened near
closing time and walked down to the Palm House. There was time
only for a quick walk through, glancing at the walk-ways
reached by spiral staircases which encircled the glass-house
about 60 feet from floor level. When energetic mood she had
often enjoyed ascending to the level near the top of the
tallest palms, looking down into an array of tropical trees.,
some with exotic flowers.. Tonight she decided to sleep in
the temple near the temperate house, but until the wardens had
finished their rounds, needed to hide under a bush. She hoped
no-one On this first night out in the open, she felt
childishly excited. It was an adventure she had not undertaken
in her conventional life as a salesman's wife.
To begin with , all new circumstances are adventures, The
She saw two Park policemen patrolling and passing yards from
where she huddled. Then by half-past five, it was pitch dark.
She knew the way and walked boldly through down the pathway
leading to King William's Temple. She went inside and huddled
at the back on a rough wooden seat, using her rucksack as a
back-rest. She stuffed newspaper into her anorak. She had
seen tramps do this, and she felt warm. But she did not
sleep. IT was an agonizing wait until first light. But her
first day was over.

When she got up in the morning she freshened up in the ladies'
convenience near the Orangery. She had to wait until opening
time at nine o'clock.
ON the second day., the weather was still unseasonably mild
and sunny. She returned to the Prince of Wales Conservatory
and said some prayers sitting on the bench in front of the
display of dry desert cacti. Soon a man dressed in some kind
of uniform entered. He was lecturing a group of four adults on
the nature of the displays. This is where children take
photographs, he said, pointing to the cacti. "They are clever
children and produce the photos to convince friend that they
have actually spent a holiday in an Eastern desert."

Gladys doubted that any of today's sophisticated children
would believe this. She smiled. She was still fairly relaxed,
and went to see a further film show in the underground cinema.
She noticed curtains hanging against the walls. The place
was dimly lit and visitors were hesitant to walk near these
walls, going straight to the four long benches provided for
seating in front of the screen. The cinemas would prove to be
a good hiding place, she thought and remember how cold she had
been cowering in the back of William's temple, she thought about
overcoming her fear of claustrophobia and staying here
tonight.

Cyril gloomily looked into the mirror in the bathroom. It was
cracked. The bailiffs had just visited removing all the
furniture, even the beds and gas cooker. Even they had
considered the bathroom mirror worthless, and they had left
him a few shaving gear. He was glad that he had kept his old
hand razor and blades, now that the electricity was cut off.
Shortly someone was coming to repossess the house as the
mortgage payments had lapsed two years ago. They had been very
patient, and his wife had been clever at arranging extensions.
Now he was on his own.
He knew the procedure to be followed. He must go to the
social security office and register as a "person of no fixed
abode."
Up until now he had avoided social security offices. He had
been visited at home and had been receiving a giro in the post
since he had lost his job as a salesman. No longer did he call
at doctor's surgeries offering them a complimentary packages
of his company's newest brand of drugs.. There was some
travelling to the NFA social security office located in
Bermondsey. Outside London Bridge Railway Station an old man
was playing an accordion.
""0 p for a cup of tea," he implored as Cyril passed. Still
dressed in a salesman's suit, he may have looked affluent, but
Cyril envied the man with accordion. He had a means of making
money. Cyril had two 50p coins in his pocket and that was all.

Entering the Social Security Office, was terrible. There was
sawdust on the floor.
Cyril looked out of place. There were young men in jeans and
ear-rings, and elderly bag-ladies wheeling trolleys. There
were slightly drunk Irishmen.

(To be continued)